


Fast & Furious: Vulcan Drift

by lousy_science



Series: Vulcan Drift [2]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fast and the Furious series - Freeform, Gangsters, M/M, Star Trek - Freeform, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lousy_science/pseuds/lousy_science
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Kirk/Spock riff on The Fast and the Furious. Jim is an eager space flier trying to break into the underground drag racing circuit, filled with dangerous gangsters, fast ships, and a brilliant team led by a mysterious Vulcan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fast & Furious: Vulcan Drift

 

Mulciber Precision Repairs was a hulking building that squatted at the end of a street in the murkier section of San Francisco. This was not an address you just came across by accident. Jim knew a lot about the Mulciber team, sure, but he had been grateful to receive coordinates that morning via Hector, to find the place in time. For the last couple of months he’d been hanging around the backstreets of this district, the hub of commerce for racing ship construction, but he had never come this far.

 

He was here half an hour early. Spock would be getting the best for the risk he’d taken on Jim, he was committed to exceeding the Vulcan’s expectations. His white tee shirt was pristine, just begging to be covered in dixyotin oil and Uranian caulking powder burns. He hadn’t drunk a sip of coffee, was too hyped up already, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he heard the quiet hum of Spock’s vehicle come around the corner.

 

He was wondering about the ‘Uhura’ person who signed off all of the team’s entry forms for Hector. His dossier on Uhura was frustratingly slim, their name was all over the official and unofficial Mulciber documentation he had been able to ferret out, but no one on the racing gamer nets could tell him anything else.

 

Spock emerged from the car, as did a drop-dead gorgeous woman with a purposeful look on her face. She looked him up and down and a ghost of a smile darted across her face. Spock just walked right past Jim, not even acknowledging him as he began the security scans to open the doors. It was his companion who indicated he come in behind them. She was already tapping at a PADD, and Jim couldn’t work out how to break the ice. He wanted to know who she was, work out what was up between her and her boss, and what they would expect of him.

 

“Hi, I’m Ji-”

 

“Hello, Mr. Rivers. You can set up at that station second on the left, I take it you know how to use that equipment?”

 

He glanced at it, and back to her retreating back.

 

“Of course, but – wait. Who, I mean, what’s your name?”

 

“All of the information here is allocated on a need-to-know business, Mr. Rivers. You may call me Uhura, but do not call me at all unless you are prepared to convince me that it is worth my valuable time. Spock will be down soon to give you instructions.”

 

With a swish of her ponytail, she was off to one of the darkened offices at the back of the garage.

 

He stood for a few moments, all his early enthusiasm rapidly fading. The large equipment-filled room was full of metals and solvents, it should be cheering him up – tinkering with ship parts was one of his favourite things, though it fell far short of actual racing. The urge to snoop into the different cabinets and check out the maker’s logos on the more obscure parts was tempting, but he was almost certainly under surveillance camera so he moved decisively towards the work station.

 

Jim knew he wouldn’t get many chances to prove himself. Mulciber had taken in no more than four drivers to their team over the last year. Two had left racing altogether after short stints there, one, Hikaru Sulu, had stayed on, and another had won three legendary races then disappeared. That guy was one of the blank pages in Jim’s dossier. His name had been Riddick, and Jim had found the data banks empty of any other information about him. It was the same with Gaila, whose information trail went back five years and came to a halt, and Jim still had no idea where she had picked up the programming skills that the racing circuit had come to admire.

 

There was a project waiting for him – an easy job, just a small joint that needed soldering. He got on to it, and it was ten minutes later that he caught the reflection of someone standing behind him. Spock, just watching, not announcing his presence, nothing creepy about that, not at all.

 

“Warn a guy before you sneak up on him, will ya?”

 

“Vulcans do not sneak, Rivers. May I see?”

 

Like a child at a science fair, Jim stood next to the small joint and waited for Spock’s inspection.

 

“Vulcans don’t race ships on the barely-legal drag circuit, either.”

 

“Such expertise. You have studied xenoanthropology?”

 

“Not as such, but y’know, you’re – ”

 

He was on the verge of saying something truly stupid, and for once Jim’s brain was throwing up a red alert to try and stop him.

 

“ – you’re extraordinary. In the racing circuit, that is. Most of us are human, obviously, as it’s hardly going to make anyone rich or doing anything except boost the human ego.”

 

“That notoriously fragile being.”

 

“Well, yeah. I’m sorry.”

 

“ _Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim_.”

 

“You what? I mean, excuse me?”

 

Spock almost smiled.

 

“As you might say, Mr. Rivers: No harm, no foul. This is adequate work. I have plans for you.”

 

Spock strode away from him, behind the upturned hulls that lay around the garage like beached whales. Carefully selecting something from a drawer, he came back to Jim.

 

“You will have heard from Hector that your ship is being delivered here today. Scotty will take a survey of it, and then we will assess how long it will take to bring up to my requirements.”

 

“I’m flying my ship, Spock. Know that. I can win these things. I almost had that race,”

 

“ ‘Almost’ is not an amount with any logical value, Rivers. I will decide who flies that ship. In the mean time, I have received this from one of my suppliers, and I want to see what you will make of it.”

 

“I’m no engineer, Spock, this stuff is only good to me to work out how fast I can make it go.”

 

Another half smile. Jim realised that the Vulcan was enjoying this.

 

“Take a look before you judge.”

 

He extended his pristine hands towards Jim’s, which were grubby with the work he had been doing. Wiping them on his jeans, he took the arm-length capsule-shaped part off of him. It was light in his hands, a hybrid metal, “Andorian? It’s like a DIL-b charger, but way too small…Wait.”

 

Spock’s eyes had lit up as realisation dawned in Jim.

 

“It’s a charger? This size?”

 

He cradled it in his hands. Something this small could provide much more concentrated energy bursts – several located in small ship could increase speed by, he worked it out in his head, “Twenty percent extra thrust power.”

 

“Nineteen point eight sixths of an increase, yes.”

 

Jim didn’t hide how impressed he was.

 

“I’ve never heard of chargers this size. It’s as if it’s designed for racing use. But Andorian? In this material? How the blazes did you get this?”

 

He could feel the smile spreading across his face as Spock impassively watched him blather on.

“And what are we going to do with it?”

 

“Despite what many people believe, it is possible to get rich in racing. There’s a set of spark lags on the desk near you. Work out which one will be best suited for this piece of equipment.”

 

“Sure thing, boss. When do you think my ship will be here? We can put this in today.”

 

“You may address me as Spock, Mr. Rivers. And we will see whether we will use this machinery on your ship or not, in time.”

 

“It’s going in, Spock. I’ll have a ten second ship for you. And call me Jim.”

 

It was three days of work, basic mechanics, cleaning, and polishing the endless nut hubs that mounted up in a speciality garage, before Jim saw his ship again. He had experienced the pleasure of meeting some other team members, most notably the lovely Gaila. She had come up to him on his first day, cracked some line about his flying prowess, and shown him a new way to lay out a DIL-b circuit board. He flirted right back at her, but toned it down when he got a thunderous glance from Spock from across the room.

 

It wasn’t a look of jealousy, didn’t strike Jim as being covetous. If anything, Gaila seemed to bring a paternal side out of Spock, who seemed concerned with her well-being. He always asked her how her new apartment was, and whether she was eating regularly.

 

She helped him refit an ancient engine that Spock had assigned him to, using tiny little movements of her fine-boned  
hand to wrest a burnt lag free from its hoop.

 

“You just moved?”

“Yeah, was living with Spock and Uhura up until three months ago. Wanted to have a place for summer – you know,  
recreational possibilities.”

 

“Oh, I _know,_ no doubt about that.”

 

They laughed, and he shifted to grab a replacement lag.

 

“So they live close?”

 

“In the ‘burbs, big house, the only one with two garages attached and a engine being refitted on the kitchen floor. I still hang out there most Sundays, chill out with Uhura and the boys.”

 

Spock’s voice broke in, ringing out across the room.

 

“Scotty, show Rivers the plans.”

 

Scotty’s beanie popped up from around an engine. He clambered up in slow motion and waved Jim over to a cluttered desk in the back of the garage.

 

It looked initially like a dump for old PADDs and computer parts, but while nursing a giant joint in one hand Scotty fired up one of three monitors to show a stunningly-rendered 3D cross-section of Jim’s ship.

 

Jim leaned forward, trying to get his head around Scotty’s plans. He’d streamlined the hull, made some clever changes which would reduce the weight, and amped up the power capacity by close to “…twenty percent? With those Romulan compression cells? I didn’t even know they were legal for recreational ships,”

 

Scotty giggled through a plume of smoke.

“That they’re not, they’re not totally illegal either though. Spock can give you the exact legal loophole, he imports them from…a guy he knows.”

 

 

Jim shook his head, sharing Scotty’s laughter.  
 

 

“Scotty man, I appreciate your work here, but you gotta tell me what you’re doing working this stuff out in a garage in San Francisco. You could be in any engineering course you wanted, you could walk into Starfleet and show them this stuff –”  
 

 

“Nah, man, I hear you but I don’t do well in complex power hierarchies. Got booted from every classroom I ever set foot in. When I was a kid, I was a right terror.”  
 

 

Scotty reached out his hands. Jim hadn’t noticed before, but there was a slight tremor in the right.  
 

 

“I have this early onset muscle degradation thing. It fucks with my digital capability sometimes. I drop stuff.”  
 

 

“You drop stuff? So?”  
 

 

“So, I did a freelance job for some Fleet guys years ago, dropped a chronometer that was worth more credits than this garage we’re sitting in. I guess it wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t run, but - I ran. Ended up finding the racing circuit, Spock. Nyota.”

 

Scotty stopped talking to cough, and Jim looked away. Then they started discussing this new ship from the ground up, bolt by bolt.

 

+++++  
 

  
By the evening, Jim felt a strange mix of adrenaline and fatigue. He crawled back to his apartment, and robotically went through the usual procedures. Check for bugs, any other recorders, that no one had set off his security checks, and then unscrewed the false bottom to his lamp and got out the communicator. There was a message to contact Pike. He walked into the bathroom, the room with the best insulation against audio spies.

 

“Pike, Kirk here.”  
 

 

“How did it go?”

 

“You know how it went.”  
 

 

“That ship cost the Fleet plenty of credits, son. You sure you know what you’re doing?”  
 

 

“Of course I – Pike, come on. When you came to me you said that Starfleet were willing to try something different to get these guys. I never lied about how much it would cost, which is _peanuts,_ by the way, compared to the budgets these crews throw around, and you can’t go into a meet like that with some dowager aunt’s space hopper. Do you still trust me?”

 

He could hear Pike’s resigned sigh in the background before he had even finished speaking.  
 

“I do trust you, Kirk. I always have. I just want to make sure you trust yourself. That’s a seductive world – fast ships, fast women. All those gangsters.”  
 

 

“I’m a big boy.”  
 

 

“With all due respect, Cadet, no, you’re not. You’re by yourself, and they are legion. I’ll re-state your mission specs if you need to hear them again: get information on who is behind the smuggling, enough for us to officially stop them. You know the time frame we’re under is tight, but don’t push yourself. Don’t get hurt.”  
 

 

“This is racing. Everyone gets hurt. But don’t worry, I’ll get you enough to nail those Ti’ran bastards.”  
 

 

“You’re so sure it’s them?”  
 

  
Jim felt his jaw tighten.  
 

 

“They’re smugglers, I know it. Their ships are loaded with flashy, expensive shit. There are more of them than anyone else. I need a little time, but we can bust their whole operation – the data hijacks, the black market stuff, the slaves – ”  
 

 

“For now, we have no idea if the smuggling and contraband cargo has any connection to the slavery rings.”  
 

 

“They just smell bad, Pike. I’m sure of it. And now I have an in.”

 

+++++  
 

 

It looked regular, too regular. A suburban house backing on to a huge garage, a hovertruck parked outside, a neatly-stacked tower of crates by the kerb. Jim could see at a glance that they were from various rocketry suppliers. Stuff that didn’t come cheap, even at wholesale. Pike’s voice spoke up in his head, and he started doing rough sums in his mind again. Where did Spock get the credits from? On the other hand, the house was neat but not grandiose, and no one would call this area anything other than up-and-coming middle class. The rest of the houses had normal sized garages, for one thing.

 

Jim smoothed down the front of his shirt. He was at Spock’s house nominally to work on some of the DIL-b chargers with Scotty, but he felt like this was a more important rite of passage. He had been entrusted with the address by Uhura, who had called him into the office for the errand as if she was organising a papal visit. It had never been questioned that he would be available to do work on a weekend, or that he would have any issues dealing with DIL-b parts, most of which were only available on the black market – that’s why this was at Spock’s residence, not the garage.

 

Walking casually, he circled the crates, noting supplier names and numbers. By the time they’d arrive at the garage tomorrow, the identifying labels would be removed. Squinting against the sun, he took one more long look at the house. He would have to get the blueprints and building specs, find out when it was last painted, what kind of power the used here. More work for the Fleet intelligence crew, who were probably spending their sunny afternoons cooped up in an airless office somewhere. Jim had seen the size of the data banks used on this case already, and every minute he was active they were swelling.

 

What Jim really wanted to know wasn’t anything relating to the smuggling case. It was what kept him up at night. What the hell was a Vulcan doing racing drag ships for kicks? A little voice from the back of his brain added, _and what is he doing with Uhura in tow_?

 

They couldn’t be together. Could they? They were both mind-boggling gorgeous – and he was Jim Kirk, he knew from gorgeous – but so chilly in their own ways. Together they acted like each other’s right hands. Like siblings, only that was a xenobiological impossibility. Wasn’t it? He’d ask Pike to get that checked on his next update.

 

  
_Stop overthinking this and get your ass into this house right here_.  
 

  
Bones may be many miles away, but it seemed that he still had a subdivision in Jim’s consciousness. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the house, hit the buzzer quickly and slapped on his best shit-eating grin.

 

Which was wasted, as the only reply he got was Scotty’s voice ringing out from the side of the house.  
 

 

“That you, Jim? Come round here.”  
 

 

Sulu chimed in, “Did you bring beer?”  
 

 

Walking around to the garage entrance, he held up his empty hands. 

  
 

“I came to work, fellas, not drink.”  
 

 

Sulu rolled his eyes and Scotty let out a long puff of smoke from his electronic joint.

 

They’d been working together for a month, and if Jim was being entirely honest with himself, it was more fun than he’d ever had as a cadet. Sulu and he had bonded over hours of racing sims, Scotty he could talk ship parts with all day and still never get sick of it. Gaila he saw less often – she was a law unto herself – but from the first time those high-heeled boots had snapped over to his workstation and he’d been flat-out speechless at all that gorgeous green skin and red hair, they had reached a common understanding. An understanding that they would flirt like mad when Sulu and Scotty and Uhura were around, but never in private, and never near Spock.

 

Jim decided it was a sign of great commitment to his job, wrote it off and grabbed a beer off of Hikaru.  
 

  
“Any sign of Spock?”  
 

 

“What, at his own house?”  
 

 

Sulu’s tone was sarcastic, and Jim frowned.  
 

 

“What I mean is, in case you didn’t work out – the boss is a workaholic. He doesn’t need much sleep, so this place is basically just where he keeps the stuff that doesn’t – or shouldn’t – fit at the garage.”  
 

 

Jim nodded, and then followed him over to the DIL-b containers they were fitting out.

 

Their first visitor was Uhura, who asked if they wanted to come into the house.

 

“Ready for lunch yet?”  
 

 

“We get fed? This is the best job ever.”  
 

 

“You clearly haven’t had one of her tuna sandwiches yet,” Scotty muttered under his breath on their way out.  
 

 

“Uhura cooks for us? Get out.”  
 

 

“Unfortunately, and I say this as someone with a deep and pure love for that amazing woman and her many abilities, yes, she does.”

 

 

  
Scotty was right, the sandwiches were awful. Who messed up sandwiches? But he ate all of his and half of Scotty’s, and gave her a huge smile and thank you at the end. The inside of the house fascinated him, almost as much as Uhura herself did. He felt like she was beginning to warm to him, in her own guarded-like-Fort-Knox way.

 

The other two sloped off to the living room to play games, while Jim stayed and helped clean up. The atmosphere inside the house had been another surprise. It felt like a home, warm and comforting, for all that it was clear that two neat freaks lived here. He understood why Gaila still hung out here. What he had yet to work out was what exactly was going on with Uhura’s relationship with Spock. They never touched each other in public, but shared long meaningful looks, without speaking. And both were protective as hell of the other.

 

“I know what you’re thinking about.”  
 

 

“Gods, Uhura, you scared me – ”  
 

 

She honestly had, he’d almost dropped a plate. He had always been a little wary of being left alone with her.  
 

 

“You’re wondering what I’m doing here, when I don’t care about racing.”  
 

 

Well, not j _ust_ that. But it would do for Jim to start with.  
 

 

“Yeah, well, not to be nosy but – you’re smarter than most of the racing circuit combined, you have that garage so well organised that it practically runs itself. I didn’t figure that Scotty’s colossal crush was the reason.”  
 

 

She almost smiled at that.  
 

 

“He’s a good man.”  
 

  
“He’s certainly handy when there’s a blockage in the output tubes.”  
 

 

“I meant Spock, you lunkhead. And don’t think I’m buying your nice-but-dim routine, either, Rivers.”  
 

 

“Then don’t call me a lunkhead. Tell me about Spock.”  
 

 

She shrugged. “I owe him…a lot.”  
 

 

“He’s never mentioned any family, do you guys go back to Vulcan?”  
 

 

“No. Never mention it to him, either. Vulcan society is a closed, regimented place. If you’re deemed in the wrong, you can never gain respect again. No matter what you do, or how unfounded the accusations against you are.”  
 

 

“I have wondered how a straight-laced Vulcan got caught up in this business.”  
 

 

“He’s not – he’s not entirely Vulcan.”  
 

 

Jim tried to look surprised. Starfleet intelligence had worked that out for him months ago.  
 

 

“He’s half-human. He’s spent more than half his life on Earth. This is what I wanted to talk to you about, Jim. He feels deeply, no matter what primitive stereotypes you have of Vulcans. I want to tell you to be careful.”  
 

 

“Careful?”  
 

 

She looked at him with those breathtaking eyes.  
 

 

“Careful. This business is not a long-term one. I’ve never hidden the fact that I want us out of it, but when Spock’s ready. You’re a new element, a new danger. He cares, Rivers, believe it or not. I do not want you doing anything stupid and  
putting this team in danger. You’re his, now.”  
 

 

Jim suppressed a nervous laugh. 

 

 

“I’m just some space jockey.”  
 

 

“You work for us. You’re family. That’s how it works, Rivers. Don’t break it.”

 

+++++  
 

 

The next week at the garage Jim worked at double pace. He had placed bugs in the two offices Uhura and Spock worked from. Nights he worked through the recordings, which were singularly tedious. Uhura worked out accounts, which were crystal clear and had not a single item of contraband on them. Jim had looked, but there was nothing dirty, on paper, coming in or out of Mulciber. It still left open how Spock afforded the space ship rental with Hector, hoisting, and dilithium bills.

 

Spock’s office work was even more boring, and that was saying something. He didn’t even send messages from there, just tracked inventory, reviewed Scotty’s plans, and worked on theoretical experimental additions to the fleet. As far as Jim could tell, much of the last work wasn’t technically for the garage, but done for Spock’s own amusement. There were also maps of every space racing circuit Jim had ever heard of, and some that he hadn’t.

 

Gaila turned out to be his best resource, a gossip with a scarily extensive knowledge of the racing black market. He didn't know how to bring up trafficking with an Orion, even Jim wasn’t that insensitive, but she introduced the subject. He still had no idea where she came from, although Pike told him that Fleet were trying to trace her.

 

According to Gaila, though most of the Orion slave trafficking happened in the neutral zone, it was increasing within Federation space. 

 

 

“Many end up forced to get surgery to milk their pheromones. Which gets traded on the black market as a bogus aphrodisiac. Orion girls often die because of it.”  
 

 

“That’s horrible.”  
 

 

“Yeah, you remember the story of the disfigured Orion body they found dumped in the harbour last year? They never released the information widely, but she died of a gland infection from all the work they did on her.”  
 

 

“But how could anyone think Orion hormones help a non-Orion?”  
 

  
Gaila rolled her eyes. 

 

 

“Like Sulu says, people have been buying snake oil for thousands of years.”

 

+++++

 

 

Each night, he sent what little information he dug up to Pike via disposable PADDs, from his tiny rathole apartment. Then he’d go back to the garage. He had a code to go in at any time, though his entry was restricted to the main room and not the back rooms. As if that had stopped him. But he usually went in to work. His ship was unrecognisable, with the amount of upgrades they had installed. Every time he ran a hand over the hull he imagined it slicing through space.  
 

  
He could win with this ship. There wouldn’t be a Ti’ran who could beat him. The only flier on the circuit Jim suspected could beat him was Spock, and Spock had never expressed a wish to fly his baby.  
 

  
Jim wasn’t sure what he would do if he asked. Pike would have kittens at the idea of a suspect flying the ship he’d reluctantly signed off on expenses. But it was barely the ship Fleet had forked out for anymore; they must have spent twice as many credits on upgrades as the original had cost.

 

  
_Follow the credits_. That was Pike’s instructions. There had been a suspected slave smuggling vessel intercepted by a Starfleet patrol a few days ago, they had diverted course and the trail had been lost. The streets of San Francisco were flooded with illegally-made ship parts this week. Gaila had been forthcoming about which garages could be relied on for stock, and which drivers would be using them. It was a list of almost every notable racing flier on the circuit.

 

Jim chased the thoughts out of his mind by regulating the skrichromidium thrusters. At eight exactly, Uhura and Spock arrived. Over the next couple of hours Hikaru, Gaila and Scotty floated in, talking about upcoming meets and new mods.  
 

  
Sulu gave him a hand re-installing the thruster blade on the underside of the right wing. “Have you heard that Spock’s been talking to Hector?”  
 

 

Jim had, after going through the recordings he’d made of Spock’s offices last night. But instead he schooled himself to look clueless.  
 

 

“Really? Any news of a meet?”  
 

 

Sulu kept his voice low.

 

 

 “If he’s calling Hector, and not the other way around, it means that Spock is trying to hook something big up. Not a typical race. There has been talk of bringing back Race Wars.”  
 

 

“Race Wars? I thought they’d stopped that event for good after the raid a few years back.”  
 

 

“Between you and me, it wasn’t a raid so much as it was Hector getting a little too friendly with the girlfriend of a flier. They had a huge fight, then coincidentally, or not, the fuzz showed up, and Hector’s ass got saved. The thing was a mess. Lots of fun.”  
 

  
Spock showed up at Jim’s shoulder at eleven, wordlessly directing him to the stand-alone engine that sat in the far left corner of the garage. This was one of Spock’s experiments that Scotty had built for him. Only Spock ever worked on it, Jim had thought, up until last week when he’d been called over to tinker with the extractor pipes.

 

This time Spock wanted to work on the ignition. Jim just held pieces in place while the Vulcan tried different micro planes in the body, but after a while he began to get what Spock was doing, and even asked him questions. Spock always took a moment to answer, and always looked at Jim just before he spoke, an expression of puzzled curiosity flowing over those marble features.

 

After a while, Jim started making suggestions, recommending a different coil material for the fuse. Spock allowing that it might be suitable, and before he knew it, four hours had been spent tinkering. The project wasn’t something that seemed to be easily monetized – frankly, it was a device that, if it was successful, would make this type of engine much more affordable and resilient to everyday owners, making a lot of the kind of work Mulciber did for legit credits obsolete. Spock seemed to be interested in creating it for the sake of improvement.

 

Scotty came over to peer at their work. 

 

 

“It looks crazy, but you know, it might just work.”  
 

 

“And you’d know from crazy, Scotty,” Jim replied.  
 

 

“I suppose that’s true. But I didn’t think you could ever get this response from using so little of the material. How long will the test period last?”  
 

 

Jim was standing so close to Spock that he could feel the rumble of the Vulcan’s voice as he said, “For accurate results, we would require three thousand repetitions in lab conditions.”  
 

 

“You ever considered taking this to Starfleet?”  
 

 

  
_Smack him in the gob with a Klingon war mallet, why couldn't he keep his mouth shut?_  
 

 

“Why do you say that, Rivers?”  
 

 

“It’s just that, unlike the corporations, Fleet would be more likely to use this technology for good – settlers, for instance, could get so much more agency if they had this kind of light engine working with less fuel. I mean, I dunno. I was just thinking out loud.”  
 

 

“We have quite the humanitarian on board.”  
 

 

Jim shrugged, ducking his head. 

 

 

“If it works, it’s extraordinary, but it would take out 30% of your revenue, given how many jobs you get re-calibrating ignitions. So I figured you’d want it for the greater good.”  
 

 

Spock threw an unreadable look to Scotty, and then turned those huge dark eyes on Jim.  
 

 

“Do you eat, Rivers?”  
 

 

Jim barked out a laugh. “It’s been known to happen.”  
 

 

“Come around to the house, Sunday, 1400 hours. We’ll have BBQ.”  
 

 

Spock turned and walked off before Jim could even respond. But he caught the look of surprise in Scotty’s eyes.

 

+++++

 

 

Jim showed up to the house with a couple of steaks, and a huge chunk of halloumi for the BBQ. He knew Vulcans were vegetarians, and even though Spock wasn’t anyone’s typical Vulcan, he figured it never hurt to hedge his bets. He strolled in, sweating harder than he ever had when entering the garage. Scotty was already wreathed in smoke out on the veranda, waving at Jim slowly, while Sulu just offered him a Corona and threw a possessive arm around Gaila, who was wearing a pristine Kiss the Cook apron but standing nowhere near the barbeque. Clearly, cooking was Spock’s domain – always at peak position, he was stationed guarding over a cooker as ornate as any console Jim had ever driven.

 

He walked up to that perfectly straight back, coughing gently over the sound system Gaila and Sulu had blasting Bajoran reggae to let Spock know he was there. One elegant hand rose in acknowledgement, and Jim silently presented the food. The eyebrow he got in return somehow radiated gratitude, and Jim glowed a little more than necessary. Opening his mouth to discuss the complex cooking paraphernalia – Spock seemed to be grilling on six separate levels, it was clearly a home-made rig and, as he might say, appeared  _fascinating_.

 

“Rivers!”  
 

 

Jim spun around. “What?”  
 

 

Uhura stood by the door, hands on her hips. “The table needs setting.”  
 

 

He knew an order when he heard it. Throwing a smirk at a placid Spock, he backed away.

 

He had to hand it to the head of the Mulciber team, not only could he fly a space ship damn near better than anyone (except for, of course, Jim himself) and invent a brand new kind of engine cooling system in his spare time, for a vegetarian he cooked a hell of a steak.

 

A few hours later, Jim wove around Gaila and Sulu, who had turned the living room into a dance floor. Under the sound of a throbbing grime track he could make out the clink of dishes. He found Spock in the kitchen, washing up the dishes methodically. On the counter by the sink everything was stacked in order: glasses, plates, then cutlery, and the big cooking pans. Jim started scraping the last of the dirty plates into the compostable garbage bin, hearing Spock pause his actions for a moment then start up again.

 

He made room for Jim, and the two of them silently fell into a pattern, working through the last of the clean-up. Wiping a dish towel over a plate with a faded Vulcan motif on it, Jim thought about all the small memories of the planet that Spock surrounded himself with. He wanted to know why, when he knew that the Vulcans had been such total assholes to the man solemnly wringing a rag in the sink next to him. In the meantime, he’d aim to get an eyebrow raised – without Spock storming out on him.

 

“I have a theory about life.”  
 

 

“I’m sure I cannot wait to hear it.”  
 

 

“When you hit a wall, you drive through it.”  
 

 

An eyebrow shot up. _Ten points to me_ , Jim thought.  
 

 

“And you want me to race you, with that philosophy?”  
 

 

“You can’t wait to race me. Why else would you be calling Hector about a big meet?” 

 

 

He gestured to the living room and lowered his voice. 

 

 

“You want to see the look on his face when the corn-fed Midwestern boy kicks his entire crew’s ass.”  
 

 

“It’s none of your business why I’m talking to Hector. There is no race this month – nothing that you’ll be piloting in.”  
 

 

“What?”  
 

 

Spock looked up. Stared hard at Jim, and then looked back down to his soapy hands.  
 

 

His voice was softer when he replied. 

 

 

“You will be racing for us in Race Wars. It is not long for you to wait.”  
 

 

Spock’s hands were beautiful.  
 

 

“Race Wars? It’s definitely coming back? The Ti’ran will be there, too?”  
 

 

“Yes.”

 

At least he hadn’t walked out on him yet. Jim decided to push.  
 

 

“What kind of money do you expect out of that? It’s not going to be enough for all of the parts we’re using.”  
 

 

Spock angled his head momentarily, as if to say, _I acknowledge your point, but that is not ultimately important_.  
 

 

“Don’t worry about the finances. Uhura and I will do that.” 

 

 

Spock turned to him. “Keep you mind on the ride. And on your ship.”

 

  
Jim heard it then, the tone that crept into Spock’s voice now and then when they were talking. He was willing to bet everything that it was exploratory, playful; that Spock, for all his standoffishness and general air of take-no-prisoners badassery, was flirting with him.

  
 

“Why don’t you fly professionally, Jim?”  
 

 

“You mean – ” he flicked his eyes up, indicating space.  
 

 

“Nah. I like, hell, I love speed, I love the race – but I have had enough of other planets, thank you very much. All that waiting around, too. Also, you have to suck Starfleet’s dick to get anywhere.”

 

Spock’s lips pursed at his response, which only made Jim smile harder.

 

“Do you have anywhere to be right now?”  
 

 

“Nope.”  
 

 

“They will be in there for some time.”  
 

 

Spock was talking about Gaila and Sulu and Scotty, currently playing sim games and getting drunker by the second. Uhura had disappeared right after they had eaten, saying something about reviewing invoices.

 

   
He dried the last glass. “Got somewhere for me to be?”

 

Spock dried his hands and silently indicated for Jim to follow him outside. He had noticed the structure out back on his one previous trip here, a simple shipping crate with a door carved into the side and an ancient-looking satellite dish perched on the roof’s edge. He’d never seen anyone go in or out of it, yet something about it radiated Spock.

 

He followed the Vulcan back, even moving his feet into the same depressions in the long grass that his preceding steps had made.

 

Inside was crammed, and as the door creaked closed Jim squinted in the artificial light. It wasn’t unlike a spaceship, with the exposed tubing running over the walls and roof and the sense of purpose over style inside. There was a long table, covered in dusty PADDs and actual paper blueprints, then a console of dated-looking information screens, all dimmed, running along one broad wall. Over half of the crate was dominated by a hulk of swirling metal components, something alien looking to anyone who knew nothing about advanced spaceship mechanics. It was from the core of a large ship’s engine, Jim saw. An old model, several decades old, almost certainly Vulcan in design.

 

Spock was silent for a long time. His eyes stayed on the table contents, his whole body turned away from the relic behind him.

 

“My father was Vulcan, as you know. My mother – she was not.”  
 

 

His eyes flicked up to Jim’s face, which was schooled in respectful surprise and confusion. Really, it was not difficult for him to fake. This small space felt like hallowed ground, being bathed in the light of Spock’s confidence.  
 

 

“My parents died on a Vulcan vessel when I was eight.”  
 

 

One elegant hand was flicked flippantly to the knot of metalwork behind him.  
 

 

“This is one of the core thrusters from their ship. It was salvaged by Orions, and made it to Earth via Hector’s market ten years later. Every engine in a Vulcan ship is like a fingerprint, you know - you can track every piece to its origin.”  
 

 

Jim waited.  
 

  
“When I was eight, I was presented to the Vulcan High Council, as an orphan, by my grandmother. I was told that the conflict was between my mother’s family and my father’s, over who would take care of me. It was not conveyed to me that, at the time, no one wanted to. My father’s family had opposed his match, and her parents were scared of an alien child.”  
 

 

“What happened?”  
 

 

“It was decided that I would stay on Vulcan, looked after by a friend of my father’s. From his house I had access to a vast library, including the designs of every Vulcan starship ever built. I studied them, wanting to learn what had gone wrong on their ship. I was obsessed, spending all my time studying. My intention was to find out who was responsible for the fault, and punish them. Of course, I took pains to hide my vengeful nature from my hosts.”  
 

 

“Jeez, Spock. You were eight. Did no one talk to you?”  
 

 

Spock placed a hand on the flank of the aged metal hulk. 

 

 

“It took me six years. It would have been less but I did my search covertly.”  
 

 

“What did you find?”  
 

 

“That it was no one’s fault. The error in engine core which led to the corruption of the atmosphere in the ship, making the air unbreathable, was a one in a million accident. It could not have been reasonably avoided.”  
 

 

He took a short breath, and made eye contact with Jim.  
 

 

“It was then that I left Vulcan. In my heart, I had abandoned the ways of Surak. I did not want to only trust logic, when such chaos could reign over the best designers in the world. I faked a ticket to board a ship bound for Earth, which as everyone knows, is the Universe’s spiritual home of irrationality.”  
 

 

“Now you’re pulling my leg.”  
 

 

“A classic example of Terran illogic. Why would I grasp at any of your limbs?”

 

Spock moved closer to Jim. He wanted to ask him more questions about his parents and his life, but he found his mouth dry, stuck waiting for Spock to advance more.  
 

  
Finally he coughed out, “What did you do when you got here?”

 

“I did everything I could. Eventually, I was back in a ship, working on a trade vessel. It seems that I cannot get away from space for too long. But when I encountered – when I met Uhura and Gaila, I knew something had to change, for their well-being. You think I am unemotional, Rivers. But my feelings run deep for those I have left to call family.”

 

The air was thick between them. Jim wanted to reach out, his hand twitching with the impulse.

 

“Why do you race, Jim?”

 

“Because I want to win.”

 

Spock took at step closer to him.

 

“I race for all our lives. When you’re in one of my ships, I want you to remember that.”

 

The lights flickered around them, and Spock broke their eye contact. He moved to hold open the door, and together they walked back into the starlit night.

 

+++++

 

 

“We have two hundred refugees kidnapped by pirates, somewhere in range, and we need the Earth contact now. It has to be the same outfit that are shipping the bootleg parts and pornography, the specs on the ships are identical. There isn’t time, Kirk.”

 

Pike’s voice was choked with anger.

 

 

“You have to give me more time, the next meet is coming up, I can get the info on the Ti’ran there, their ships will be covered in contraband.”

 

“Every ship will be covered in contraband – including yours. Do you think we’re idiots? Haven’t you read any of the reports you sent me?”

 

Pike spoke softly.

 

“It’s Spock, Jim. It’s always been Spock.”

 

Jim shook his head.

 

“No. It’s not. If you knew what he’d been through.”

 

“Don’t let your heart bleed all over a case, cadet.”

 

“It’s the Ti’ran, Pike. Give me the time.”

 

 

  
_Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim = There is no offense where none is taken._

 

 


End file.
